


Top Shelf

by vienn_peridot



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers (Marvel Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: AU: Syngnath, Angst, Body Horror, Covert Operation, Cuddlepiles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Attraction, Mystery, Other, Ovaria!Drift, Polyamory, Projectile Salmon, Psychic Abilities, Selectively Mute Link, Sickfic, Sleepiness, Syngnath AU, Syngnath!Jazz, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, WTF is canon anyway?, horror movies, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2018-11-23 17:05:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: 500+ word, moderately edited drabbly ficlets distilled for some very fine human beings and collected here for your enjoyment.Pairings, tags and ratings for each chapter can be found in pre-chapter notes.





	1. Deadlock/Hot Rod

**Author's Note:**

> Deadlock/Hot Rod  
> Fluff, H/C, Sickfic, Cuddling&Snuggling.
> 
> Apparently in IDW Canon Hot Rod was about the size of Rung before the Matrix reformatted him, so...
> 
>  **Added 18/7** : Silverxenomorph of Tumblr has done some amazing fanart of this chapter [[HERE](https://silverxenomorph.tumblr.com/post/162780735372/i-keep-buying-new-sketchbooks-and-not-using-them)]  
> AFKLGHKDFLGH IT'S SO CUTE I AM DIE

Deadlock _hated_ being sick.

He hated the weakness, the vulnerability, the forced inactivity; hated it all with a loathing that burned hotter than the fires of the Pit.

Ignoring the odd knocking sound that came from his engine, Deadlock heaved his frame slowly out of the blanket-covered berth. He was starting to cool down and knew the best way to warm up was a nice brisk drive.

The fact that he couldn’t currently walk didn’t matter. Driving didn’t need legs and he’d _crawl_ to the street if he had to.

“Where do you think _you’re_ going?”

Hot Rod’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

Deadlock turned his helm slowly, glaring balefully at the orange-red blur standing in the berthroom door. From the shape of the blur Hot Rod probably had his hands on his hips as he scowled at the speedster. Even though his optics weren’t focusing properly Deadlock could picture the expression that went with that tone of voice all too well.

“’M going out.” Deadlock grumbled. “Not sick enough for bed rest.”

“Like slag.” Hot Rod spat, stomping forward and trying his best to hail the larger up. “You _know_ the only cure for that nanoviral strain is _rest_ , and that any exercise just pushes it deeper into your systems.” Deadlock went limp, stubbornly resisting as Hot Rod continued tugging. “Now get your aft back into bed or I’ll _kick_ it until you do.”

The determined growl and angry revving of the smaller mech’s engine as he tugged Deadlock’s mass across the floor was quite impressive, given their relative sizes.

“It’s too cold.” Deadlock surprised himself by saying. “Can’t stay warm in that fraggin’ thing.”

Sighing, the smaller mech stopped trying to haul him along by sheer force and looked down at Deadlock. Given the difference in their heights he didn’t have very far to look, especially when Deadlock shoved himself up to his knees.

“Your systems need _rest_ so autorepair can clear the viral slag out.” Hot Rod repeated, sounding extremely put-upon. “If I come be your heater will you stay put until you’re better?”

The offer was _extremely_ appealing. Hot Rod was an excellent frag and an even better snuggle-buddy. Deadlock wavered, muddled thoughts moving sludgily through his processors.

For some reason Hot Rod seemed to read his silence as refusal, because he spoke again.

“Please, Deadlock?” The small Nyonite mech was pleading now. “I’ll… I’ll read as many datapads as you want if you just stay in bed until your systems are clear.”

Unlimited Hot Rod snuggles _and_ reading?

_Pit yes, I’m there._

Immediately Deadlock swivelled on his knees and heading towards Hot Rod’s berth.

Well, he tried to; his energy levels were running low as self-repair pulled in everything it could to clear the virus and it’s by-products from his systems. After wasting so much climbing out of berth he barely had enough to shuffle more than an inch or two, but dammit he _tried_.

In the end he let Hot Rod help him back up onto the recharge slab, burrowing into the pile of old tarps and blankets the smaller mech had heaped on it. The instant Hot Rod returned with some solid fuel and one of his datapads Deadlock pulled him right into the middle, engine rumbling possessively as they made themselves comfortable.

With his arms wrapped around Hot Rod’s midsection, Deadlock rested his helm in the crook of the smaller mech’s arm so he could see the datapad screen. Hot Rod always produced heat like a little furnace, driving the chill out of any berth he was in. Right now Deadlock tried to wrap as much of his frame around his lover as he could, plastering himself to the source of that heat as Hot Rod activated the datapad and selected a file.

Dazedly, Deadlock watched a scuffed red finger trail across the screen as Hot Rod read aloud. Every now and then a puff of cooler air would brush across Deadlock’s finials, making him growl. Neither of them were very good readers, but Hot Rod was still miles ahead of Deadlock.

The sound of the small Nyonite’s voice eventually lulled the exhausted warrior into recharge, warm and comfortable as Hot Rod’s spark thrummed beneath his cheek.

 


	2. Perceptor/Ovaria!Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor/Ovaria!Drift  
> Friendship, Fluff, Established Relationship, Syngnath AU
> 
> I haven't read anything in this part of the IDW canon, my deepest apologies if I've butchered timeline characterisation TuT  
> In all my IDW-set Syngnath AUs Percy knows about Drift and they forge a friendship that has its roots in being the odd ones out.

It was their first resupply stop since taking on the wanderer and within hours they’d somehow managed to lose him.

A peerless warrior who happened to have one of the highest kill-counts of the entire war, and the Wreckers had lost him at a trading outpost.

“ _Where-do-you-think-he’s-gotten-to?_ ” Blurr asked idly.

“Doesn’t matter.” Springer growled. “If he’s not back within the hour we’re taking off without him.

Perceptor was the first one to spot Drift returning, walking slowly and carrying a large and mysterious stack of crates. As the Wreckers prepared to depart, Drift completely ignored Springer’s mood and any questions about his purchases.

Drift never told anyone exactly what he’d bought at the outpost.

No matter how much they pestered him.

Some of it was obvious as they saw him with them around the ship; energon additives and speedster-grade snacks, stuff for tending his blades, things to replenish his personal detailing kit and some sort of weird scented resin that made an admittedly pleasant change to the singed metal smell of Kup’s cygars pervading the ship.

None of these discoveries satisfied Wrecker Curiosity after Perceptor gave a rough estimate of the volume of Drift’s shopping crates and Springer confirmed that even _he_ would have had difficulties carrying that stack if it had all been polishes and candy.

This mass discrepancy drove all of them _insane_ with curiosity.

“Could have gotten some empties to use for storage?” Kup offered one night as the regular nightowls chewed over their current favourite gossip topic. “Or maybe the kid really likes the DIY furniture look.”

Perceptor shook his helm disagreeing quietly.

“I don’t think it fits.” He said softly, “He seems to be more of the ascetic type.”

“As opposed to the ‘scruffy’ kind of hippy?” Kup snorted, searching in subspace for a fresh cygar. “You know him best out of all of us, kid. I’ll take your word for it.”

It was surprisingly easy not to smile at that observation. Perceptor settled for nodding instead as Kup found what he was looking for and bit into the end with a relieved sigh.

“If you say so.”

“Besides, where is he? Isn’t he normally one of the Midnight Malingerer?” Kup searched the room, frowning as he finally noticed Drift’s absence from the group.

“I don’t know. He hasn’t been more than twice since the resupply stop...” Perceptor trailed off as seemingly unrelated clues assembled themselves into a workable hypothesis.

Evading Kup’s badgering was easy; getting up early enough to catch Drift while the mech was still in his quarters definitely _wasn’t_. Perceptor solved the problem by simply staying up all night, immersing himself in work so the time flew past.

At a heinously early hour he approached Drift’s quarters, armed with racer-grade energon to placate the drowsing beast. (A safety precaution in case he was wrong and Drift’s recharge habits hadn’t changed in the way he thought.)

The door unlocked remotely when he pinged the speedster, Drift’s sleepy voice emerging from the berthroom in a slurred, multitonal welcome that made Perceptor smile.

_Got you_.

When he ordered the berthroom lighting up to normal Drift hissed in displeasure. Engine growling grumpily, he glared at Perceptor from the middle of an enormous mound of blankets. The slit-pupiled gaze wasn’t as jarring as it had first been, but Perceptor still had to swallow a thrill of atavistic fear whenever coming face-to-face with Drift in his true form.

“So you finally acquired adequate materials to construct a nest?” He asked, holding the energon up where Drift could see it.

Those alien optic brightened with interest. A hand emerged, making demanding grabby motions at the energon with oddly-shaped fingers.

“Yeah.” The Ovaria grumbled, refusing to emerge from the pile even as Perceptor gave him the cube and sat on his heels beside the blanket mound. “ _Finally_ able to get a decent nights’ recharge.”

Perceptor hummed, running a critical optic over the pile.

“I have concerns about the structural integrity of your creation, but aesthetics obviously come second to comfort in this instance.” He said, waiting patiently for the teasing to penetrate Drift’s recharge-fogged processors.

When it finally did, Drift’s cursing made Perceptor laugh louder than he had since Kimia.


	3. Rodimus/Rung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus/Rung
> 
> Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Overlord MTMTE, Horror Movies, sleepy robutts.
> 
> ...Rewind played Black Sheep (A Kiwi horror film) at Movie Night.

Horror movies were nothing to someone who’d lived through a war spanning millennia.

_Especially_ not horror movies created by young species who hadn’t travelled past their own moon and didn’t know what terrors the universe held.

Doubly, triply, _undeniably_ so with horror movies that also featured bad jokes, terrible CGI and truly _appalling_ pacing.

…It was the practical effects that might have gotten to him.

Just a little bit.

Rodimus realised this as movie night wound down and people began to disperse back to habsuites or wander off to start duty shifts. Since he himself had nowhere to be Rodimus found himself hanging back, helping with the clean-up. Setting a good example and ensuring things were tidied _properly_ so Magnus had no reason to get his transmission in a twist about all this ‘Fun’ messing up the ship.

Walking back to his habsuite, Rodimus finally _knows_ that the practical effects have gotten to him.

Possibly some of the other movie tricks too, as the soft clicking of his pedes on the floor suddenly sounded _far_ too much like little hooves for his peace of mind.

The lights are out down at the end of one corridor.

Rodimus hurried past, averting his optics and ignoring the way his fuel pumpstarted hammering far too fast for a lazy stroll through a quiet ship.

_What a time for it to start a test cycle…_

Breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of his habsuite door, Rodimus let himself inside with hands that definitely did NOT shake. He leaned against the closed door because he was tired, _not_ because his backplates felt they were crawling in reaction to the unseen stares of imaginary eyes.

Golden spoilers twitched, scraping against the door with a sound that brought to mind a particularly nasty door-related scene from Rewind’s Movie of Choice. Rodimus froze against the door of his habsuite, blue optics wide as energon _hammered_ through his lines, systems spinning up to battle-readiness as his imagination grabbed those images and started to play.

_Nope. No, no,oh_ hell _no._

What Rodimus needed was _company_.

Ideally; someone who wouldn’t laugh at him for this stupid, irrational fear. It was just a movie. A stupid Earth horror flick. It _shouldn’t_ have this kind of effect on him.

But it did.

Running over his options, Rodimus immediately discarded Drift and Magnus as options. He didn’t need Magnus’ silent judgement _or_ Drift’s amusement at his expense. _Of course_ Drift wouldn’t laugh out loud, but he had this way of _looking_ at you out the corner of his optics with his helm tilted ever-so-slightly to the right that Rodimus just _knew_ meant that Drift was laughing on the inside.

Other than them, there was… there was…

_Who?_

Ten minutes later Rodimus was standing in the middle of a brightly lit room, mixing additives into warmed energon while Rung pottered around in search of some toolkit or other.

The purely Cybertronian aesthetic of Rung’s livingroom soothed him, the lighting and background noises so unlike the atmosphere of the film that Rodimus thought he might be able to shake off its effects by morning shift. That was _if_ Rung didn’t decide to wax philosophical about the psychological implications of having similar archetypes appearing in the horror genres of different species.

_Primus! Please, no._

Rodimus; armour was actually clamping down warily by the time he picked up the pair of mugs, carrying them to the table Rung had already set up to his liking. There was even a couple of coasters for their fuel lurking amongst the toolkits, painting supplies and whatever model ship currently needed parts added to it.

Apparently Rung was willing to take pity on the poor, frazzled Captain because he kept the conversation to practical subjects and ship gossip; mainly about how certain sets of roommates were getting along.

As the night dragged on Rodimus started yawning, nodding off at the table after their third (or fourth?) mug of energon while Rung tinkered and kept up a happy monologue.

Rodimus nearly died of embarrassment the next morning. He woke up at the table with crimped neck cables and an imprint of his forearm armour on his cheek. Across from him, Rung was in more-or-less the same state.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Rodimus put his face back down on his arm and faked a loud snore.

Just to see what Rung would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so stressed I can't sleep atm so the editing suffered on this one I'm sorry TnT


	4. Prowl/Syngnath!Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl/Syngnath!Jazz  
> AU, Established Relationship, Friendship, Fluff, Syngnath!Jazz.
> 
> Takes place during [ Ch16 of 'Love Me?'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3591432/chapters/12586628).

Jazz was snooping.

Leaning forward in his chair, frowning at a secure commline he’d hacked.

 _Prime’s_ secure commline.

Spying on Optimus’ cross-galaxy call to Ratchet, to be precise.

It was all in the service of the Greater Good, of course. Not that Jazz really believed such a thing existed; this was for Ratchet’s benefit and his own peace of mind.

Silently cursing the slightly fuzzy mid-lever resolution of the vidfeed, Jazz examined the Incubator as best he could from the other side of the galaxy. Physically the CMO seemed to be in better condition than when he’d left, plating smoother and enamel layer appearing healthier than Jazz had seen it in hundreds of years.

_Even looks like he’s touched up at least once in the last week…_

If Jazz hadn’t known about Ratchet’s houseguests this would have been enough for him to seriously contemplate the possibility of Ratchet having been shadowplayed since being sent on leave.

It _just_ _wasn’t like_ the offworld Syngnath to do _anything_ about his appearance.

Even after major repairs, Ratchet usually had to be cornered in his office or a washrack and lectured about the necessity of Command Staff maintaining a certain level of presentation. It was usually Jazz’s job to run interference while someone else cornered the cranky CMO and forced him to endure the bare minimum of grooming.

_Prowl can get him to hold still longest, other than Prime._

Smiling to himself, Jazz was making a note to himself to find out more about these mysterious houseguests –and maybe send them an anonymous thankyou present when none other than Prowl himself entered his office.

No warning, no knock, nothing. He just strolled right on in like he owned the place despite the way Jazz bristled and growled. Prowl came around the desk to stand beside his chair and see what he was doing before Jazz could even think of turning the monitor off.

It was far, far too late to pretend he hadn’t been spying on the Prime’s personal calls.

A self-satisfied nod and subtle sensorwing twitch was Prowl’s only reaction to having caught Jazz in the act. That and a smug little sidelong glance accompanied by a flicker of EMF that spoke _volumes_ about Jazz getting busted doing actual _work_ for once.

_Don’t say it; don’t fraggin’ say it…_

“What do you make of his state of mind?” The Praxian asked, crossing his arms as he observed Ratchet’s face on the screen. “Outwardly he appears to be improving, but I am not convinced yet that his mind is making the same improvements as his frame.”

“The medics’ reports?” Jazz knew it; he just wanted to hear Prowl _say_ it.

The Praxian’s Field buzzed against his horns with a subtle laugh.

“And those of the agent who delivers your mail.” Prowl admitted easily as Prime and Ratchet ended their conversation and the screen went dark. “For such a showy frametype she’s surprisingly good at evading notice.”

With a few quick keystrokes Jazz disconnected from the Prime’s personal vidcom line and set his recording of the conversation to replay. His interrogation subroutines began analysing Ratchet’s every twitch for signs of the other Syngnath’s true state of mind.

_He’s just too damn good at pretending._

“A good performer knows how to go unnoticed when it’s needed, Prowler.” Jazz said casually. He wasn’t surprised that Prowl had figured out the lines of communication; just annoyed that he’d managed to do it so soon. If Prowl had managed that…

_Slag, what else has he figured out?_

A chill went down Jazz’s backstruts. Out the side of his visor he watched elegant black-and-white sensor wings flick and sway in unguarded reaction to the fluctuations of his Field.

A beloved voice whispered from memory as he watched Prowl become absorbed in Ratchet’s expression on the vidfeed.

_Careful, my Jazzy. Careful…_

Careful checking showed that he was projecting purely Cybertronian harmonics, but how often had Jazz slipped up around this mech? Prowl was a fellow officer and friend, but some secrets were too dangerous to risk discovery.

Praxus had always been dangerous for his kind, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mystery mailmech is revealed to be Mystere, and WOE IS JAZZ HE WORKS SO /HARD/ TO KEEP UP THAT LAZY FACADE!!1!


	5. Link/Revali

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Link/Revali  
> Flirting, Fluff, Mutual Attraction, Selectively Mute Link, Selective Mutism, Projectile Salmon
> 
> I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING HERE TTuTT My apologies if I screw anything up. I haven't played any Zelda games (yet) and all I know about the BoTW lore and characterisation I have gleaned from 6weeks of ravenously binge-reading Sidlink and Revalink fic. I'll get there eventually, until then please have this nonsense with my deepest apologies ^.^;;;

Link smiled to himself as he dragged a grumpy, protesting Revali away from the village and down the main pathway on foot.

They could have flown (or glided, in Link’s case) as the Master Archer pointed out several times, but Link didn’t care. He was going on a _walk_ with Revali, dammit. Whether the Rito liked it or not.

Something about the set of Revali’s blue feathers whenever he thought he wasn’t being watched made Link think that he wasn’t as opposed to the idea as he thought.

Even if he _did_ complain –loudly- about his feet and legs not being made for hiking.

Their destination wasn’t all that far from the village, not even half an hour of walking. When they reached it Link smirked and made a grand, sweeping gesture of welcome that might possibly have made the corner of Revali’s mouth twitch up if you were looking closely enough. Link caught it and tucked the sight away in his memory for later. He watched with silent amusement as the blue Rito flopped onto a sun-warmed boulder with an exaggerated sigh of relief, stretching and flexing his sinewy, scaled feet in the air.

Rolling his eyes at the melodramatic display, Link pointedly turned his back on Revali and began stripping off weapons and armour, stacking his gear neatly on a flat rock. His keen ears picked up soft rustling behind him as Revali’s curiosity was piqued -not that he’d ever admit it, of course.

By the time Link was down to his undergarments he was starting to reconsider his plan. Today _was_ warmer than usual by the standards of Rito Village but it still wasn’t anywhere near as warm as he would have liked for swimming. He couldn’t back out now, though. Not with Revali’s eyes burning into his back and the sound of the Rito swallowing air clearly audible over the soft sound of the little stream.

 

~

 

“What are you _doing?_ ” Revali finally forced himself to ask, trying to pull his eyes away from the firm, scar-seamed lines of Link’s shoulders. “If you wanted to wash you could have done so at the Village instead of dragging me all the way out here.”

The Hylian Champion shrugged and waved something vague back over his shoulder. Revali was trying to ignore the gooseflesh rising on Link’s bare arms without the protection of his snowquill armour. Trying so hard and so unsuccessfully that Link’s dive took him completely by surprise. It was almost graceful for a flightless being; for a moment Link’s body carved an elegant path through the air and then he vanished beneath the water with a surprisingly small splash.

Revali propped himself up on his elbows, enjoying the sun on his feathers while he waited for Link to surface. Seconds passed, trickling into a minute.

Two minutes.

Three.

How long could Hylians go without air?

He didn’t know.

Revali was getting to his feet, ready to jump in and haul the stupid Hylian’s unconscious body out of the water when something exploded up from the pool. It happened too fast, Revali too caught up in thoughts of an unconscious and possible dead Link to dodge.

So the fish hit him square in the face, leaving a soggy splat-mark across the top of his beak before falling to the stones at his feet and flopped fitfully while Revali _stared_.

For some reason a hearty salmon had decided to launch itself _at his face_.

A laugh he’d never heard before rippled through the mountain air.

Looking up from the inexplicable salmon Revali saw Link bobbing in the water, face flushed and laughing delightedly. He could _feel_ the feathers of his neck and chest ruffling up as he drank in the sight. When he realised what was happening Revali tried to scowl, making a rude gesture at Link as he turned away, trying to regain his composure.

“Hey, Revali!”

The unfamiliar male voice could only belong to Link, especially since it sounded like the speaker was right in the middle of laughing himself to death.

“ _What_ , you graceless Hylian clown?!” Revali snapped, turning around before he could think the better of it.

Link blew a mocking kiss that made Revali fluff up all over again.

Stooping quickly, Revali snatched up the twitching salmon and threw it directly at Link’s laughing face, oblivious to the smile spreading across his own.


	6. Prowl/Syngnath!Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl/Syngnath!Jazz  
> Fluff, friendship, established relationship, mutual attraction.
> 
> Poor Jazzy. He likes the shiny sleepy Praxian but it's too dangerous for him to go there. This is still in the same AU as the other Jazz/Prowl fic in this ficlet collection. (The some one as Love Me?) but also counts for an unpublished G1 Syngnath AU I've been working on. Jazz has his proper next in the SpecOps wing, this one is in the Officers' Quarters and he absolutely does NOT feel safe recharging there, especially not by himself.

Prowl ignored his comms. He didn’t want to get up.

He was _comfortable_.

In his preferred sleeping position, lying curled on his side and most of the way over on his front, everything perfectly supported by chunks of padding and thick blankets.

Unfortunately his sense of responsibility wouldn’t let him stay where he was, even though he still had plenty of time before he had to report for duty. Sighing deeply and regretfully, Prowl pushed himself up to find the true owner of the berth watching him from the other side of the room. He hadn’t been aware of the mech entering, couldn’t feel his Field from here but that was normal when it came to Jazz.

“So ya took me up on the offer after all.” The shorter mech looked and sounded greatly amused, but his Field as contained as usual. “Comfy?”

“Extremely.” Prowl admitted without shame as he slowly extricated his legs from the blankets that had gotten tangled around them. “Thank you for allowing me to use your room.”

They both knew that while these were Jazz’s _official_ quarters, the mech usually recharged elsewhere. Somewhere in the heart of Special Operations territory, but that was as much as Prowl knew. Jazz only ever used these rooms to socialise or when he took someone to berth. It was an extremely _comfortable_ berth, too. One that Prowl regretted having to leave as he stood and began to stretch slowly, settling recharge-rumpled armour back into place one plate at a time.

It struck Prowl as odd that despite his rumoured and evidenced promiscuity, Jazz had never once attempted to seduce any of the Praxians on base. This wasn’t for lack of trying on Smokescreen’s part, and Bluestreak had confessed more than once that he wouldn’t mind a roll in the berth if he was ever assigned away from Ops. Even now, despite the way Prowl deliberately prolonged his morning stretch, Jazz didn’t seem show so much as a flicker of interest.

_A pity, really…_

Honestly Prowl didn’t care how many mechs Jazz had been with right where he had just been lying: it was a damn comfortable berth and he was greedy for any chance to borrow it that he could get.

“You’re welcome to ‘charge here as often as you like when I don’t have company.” Jazz said neutrally, flashing Prowl a lukewarm little smile before inspecting his claws. “Would be a shame for all this to lay about unused; an’ I recharge better in Ops, anyway.”

Jazz’s Field extended briefly, buzzing pleasantly against Prowl’s sensorpanels in a rare moment of trust before pulling away again. The smaller mech’s armour shifted as Prowl reached out with his own Field to express his gratitude.

“Shall I consider my payment for borrowing your spare berth to be those cadmium candies you’re always stealing from my desk drawer, then?” Prowl asked, beginning their usual banter as he finished stretching and started heading for the door.

“No idea what you’re talking about, mech.” Jazz said airily, exhaling sharply across his pristine claw-mods and pretending to buff them against his collar armour. “But now I know they’re there…” He trailed off speculatively, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile.

Prowl laughed quietly as they left Jazz’s quarters side by side, heading for the Officers’ Mess.

“I should order more, then.”

“You do that. _Especially_ if you wanna keep berth access privileges.”

“Understood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops this was a Patron Reward for someone back in August 2017 but I forgot I was allowed to post it to the public. My bad ^.^;


	7. [Mornings] Perceptor/Ovaria!Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor/Ovaria!Drift  
> SFW.  
> Fluff, TOOTH-ROTTING fluff, Friendship, Established Relationship, IDW, Sleepy Percy, Drift is a little shit.

Drift finished his morning meditations feeling more centred and at peace than he had in a long time. Returning to full awareness, he cycled his vents and took stock of his surroundings with a deep sense of rightness.

_We’re doing the right thing. This quest…_

Muffled sounds drifted from his berthroom as he stood and stretched lingering stiffness from his lines and joints. He’d been sitting in an unforgivingly rigid posture for a fairly long time for his frametype and it showed. It was rather embarrassing to realise that despite several rebuilds, there were some aches he just couldn’t escape.

_At least there’s nobody around to see me all stiff right now._

More soft sounds reached his audials as he finished stretching and Drift smiled. It sounded like someone moving around in a large pile of soft material. Rustling fabric, creaking joints and what was definitely a grumbled swearword. He checked his chronometer, smile stretching into a positively evil grin as he slowly turned towards the door that led to his berthroom.

_Percy’s second alarm must’ve just gone off…_

The scientist wasn’t much of a morning person. Wasn’t really a fan of sleep in general, as Drift had discovered over the years.

For some reason the Cybertronian had decided to capitalise on his chronic insomnia, deciding that if he couldn’t achieve recharge easily then he may as well continue working. Most of the time he’d just claim that he didn’t need as much recharge as his basic frametype _physically required_ and would push himself until he passed out at his workstation.

During his time in the Wreckers Drift had lost count of the number of times he’d found Perceptor asleep on a lab stool, facedown on a desk or propped in an out-of-the-way corner with a datapad full of scientific journals resting on his reinforced chestplate.

The only reliable way Drift had found to make sure Perceptor got at least the minimal amount of recharge he needed to avoid collapse was to claim he was having trouble recharging on his own. He wasn’t above manipulating the hell out of Perceptor when it came to the other mech’s wellbeing, after all. Drift had always looked out for those he considered his, ever since Gasket had found him trying to hide in an empty crate.

Besides; they both rested easier with company.

Sneaking to his berthroom door, Drift leaned against the wall and watched a half-concealed Perceptor trying to make himself comfortable in the pile of blankets and cushions Drift used as a berth. There wasn't much of the mech visible, -only scraps of black and teal plating that stood out against the pale grey material Drift used to camouflage himself with while he recharged.

After a minute or so Perceptor found a comfortable position, hydraulics hissing as he relaxed into the berth.

“Time to get up, sleepy.” Drift said cheerfully.

He spoke just a _little_ too loudly, taking positively unholy delight in the way the Cybertronian’s Field went hard against his as the scientist tensed.

Perceptor took a while to respond, probably editing swearwords out of his reply.

“ _No_.”

“Tough luck, Percy.” Drift projected a level of energetic alertness he definitely didn’t feel, watching the blankets move as Perceptor’s plating twitched. He gave the older mech a moment or two to let down his guard, then Drift _sang_ at a volume impossible to be ignored; “Wakey, wakey! Science and suffering!”

Perceptor’s reaction was everything he could have wanted.

The nest-berth erupted in a fountain of flying blankets and waving limbs as Perceptor flailed his way up to a sitting position, glaring purest murder at the Syngnath. Drift laughed at Perceptor’s threatening snarl.

“The beast emerges from its slumber.” Drift intoned in his best imitation of a famous earth-born nature documentary narrator.

The Cybertronian fixed him with a stare that would have turned Drift’s circulatory fluids to ice if Perceptor had a weapon in his hands.

“I hate you.” Perceptor enunciated clearly, voice filled with venom and his Field radiating pure loathing. “ _So fucking much_. No instruments exist that could measure the depth of my loathing for you in this moment.”

“It’s too early in the day for murderous hate.” Drift pointed out logically, raising an optical ridge at the scientist. “Morning fuel is on the coffee table, I got your additives and everything. Better go drink it before it goes solid.”

The mention of fuel perked Perceptor up in a sparkpulse. His Field became infinitely more welcoming and Drift had to stifle another laugh as the scientist rolled off the berth and tried to thrash his way towards the door with lengths of fabric wound around his limbs.

Laughing too hard to speak, Drift helpfully plucked blankets from Perceptor as the Cybertronian staggered past. He barely needed to think about it; he’d had plenty of practice at doing this, after all.

Gratitude and affection brushed him as Perceptor pretended to collapse into him, wrapping him in a warm, recharge-muzzy hug. Sighing, Drift hugged his friend back and soaked in the moment.

In a few minutes he’d remind Perceptor to fuel. For now, he was happy just to feel his friend healthy and whole.

_This… Is what home feels like._

It felt good.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unedited version of this ficlet is available [HERE](http://adhesivesandscrap.tumblr.com/post/175757953466/another-emergency-ficlet-done-blushlouise-you). Thank you, BlushLouise <3


	8. [See No Evil] TFA Prowl/Megatron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl/Megatron  
> SFW.  
> TFA, mystery, body horror, mild angst.

He was looking for Sari.

That was the excuse Prowl planned to use if he was caught breaking into Sumdac’s place of residence.

He really _was_ looking for her; but it was a third- or fourth-tier priority after following what felt like the pull of an AllSpark fragment combined with a strange whispering on the edge of hearing.

The whispering had been interrupting his meditations, intruding on his recharge.

It had drawn Prowl away from the base and towards this particular part of Detroit several times. Every time so far he’d come to his senses before reaching his destination and abandoned his heading, changed course, gone somewhere else within the city or the surrounding countryside in search of AllSpark fragments or the kind of peace and quiet that couldn’t be found around the warehouse district their base lay within.

Today when Prowl found himself following that pull he stopped, idling at a red light and considering his options. He wasn’t on patrol, this was his own free time and he’d been heading to one of his favourite places to observe the organic life of this planet.

The light changed. Around him the human drivers piloting their nonsentient vehicles took several whole seconds to notice.

It was more than enough time for Prowl to change his plans.

Instead of merging left and seeking one of those green spaces with the small avians he continued on ahead, following the directions of his internal navigation systems.

There was a pulsing sensation in his Spark, something that felt a lot like the tug of an AllSpark fragment guiding him onwards. As well as this he seemed to hear a low voice that whispering to him in the hum of his tyres over the hard rocklike substance humans used to surface their roadways.

When he stopped outside the building housing Professor Sumdac’s lab, Prowl thought he must be in the wrong place. There was no way Sari’s Paternal Unit could conceal AllSpark fragments from his overly precocious daughter, let alone her Cybertronian friends.

Mentally rolling his optics in disgust, Prowl pulled carefully back out into the midmorning traffic in search of his mysterious whisperer.

_I might as well do this properly…_

Within half a human hour he was back outside Sumdac’s lab. Sighing, Prowl waited for a gap between vehicles and cruised back out onto the road.

This pattern repeated itself several times before Prowl was willing to admit that the sources of both spark-tugging and whispers came from within this particular human structure.

Early the next morning he returned, sliding through the shadows and slipping past Sumdac’s security systems like the shadow of a ghost.

If anyone happened to spot him, he would claim to be looking for Sari. He’d claim a worrying vision during meditation or a ‘bad dream’ and say he was trying to check on the young human as a result of this.

The fact the he wasn’t headed in the direction of Sari’s quarters meant his excuse wouldn’t have fooled Ratchet or Optimus. Or Professor Sumdac, for that matter. Together, the four of them had agreed upon a series of key locations within Detroit to monitor. Sari’s place of recharge (or the human equivalent) was one of them. They would know as well as Prowl did that he was going the wrong way for that.

Following the directions given by the whispering in his processor and the tugging on his spark, Prowl found himself hacking the impressive (for a human-created system) security systems around Professor Sumdac’s laboratory and gliding inside.

What he saw froze him in place, spark stuttering with shock.

A severed Cybertronian head.

This head was missing fully _two thirds_ of the facial structures, resting at the centre of a web of conduits and electronic wiring.

Prowl fell to his knees, barely registering a similarly severed hand that had been arranged in such a way that it appeared to be some bizarre piece of furniture.

The whispering… the tugging of an AllSpark fragment… it had been coming from the butchered remains of this mech.

Kneeling before his tormented kinsman, Prowl wept.

If anyone asked what had led him to this discovery, he would claim to have been looking for Sari.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unedited version of this ficlet can be found [HERE](http://adhesivesandscrap.tumblr.com/post/175829867276/no-power-yesterday-so-no-internet-ill-finish). Thank you Vesryn!  
> (This _will_ be a full AU... one day...)


	9. [The Claw (Machine)] Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift  
> SFW, Fluff, Slice of Life.
> 
> Drift is a giant weeb and deserves a good afternoon off.

From the moment Drift first saw it, he _wanted_ it.

It would be a perfect addition to his collection. He already knew _exactly_ where he’d put it -on the shelf right _there_ between a gift from Verity and something Perceptor had picked up for him from a museum in Prague. If Drift went ahead and got the thing for his collection, he figured he’d have to attach a small magnet to the bottom to make sure it stayed in place.

It wouldn’t be hard. Even _he_ could manage something like that.

_Gotta keep up the exercises, see if I can get that fine motor control back to where it should be…_

But instead of doing the physiotherapy he _should_ have been doing, Drift was out driving again. Cruising past the mall where he’d first seen the item. It was still there, just like it had been every single time he’d driven past since first seeing it. Today it had actually moved a little, as if someone else had been trying for it.

Drift didn’t have Prowl’s advanced tactical processors, but he was more than capable of assessing the situation.

_Now’s my chance._

So instead of driving on past he pulled into the carpark and found himself a spot right in the sunniest part. Like everyone stationed on earth he took full advantage of any and all chances to sunbathe, even if it was only for a couple of minutes. Practically vibrating with nerves he almost forgot to activate his holoform _inside_ his cab first instead of just projecting it to where he wanted to be.

 _I’d_ never _hear the end of it from Percy or Roddy if I made that kind of stupid rookie mistake!_

Using the holoform to pick up the small handful of coins he’d tucked into his glovebox went smoothly. Navigating the process of getting the projection out of his insides? Not quite so well. He got carried away in his excitement, swinging the door shut without even thinking about which side he’d sent the holoform out of - _and_ shut the door without using the holoform to initiate the action.

A nervous prickle passed over his plating as he scanned the area for witnesses, the cheeks of his holoform turning red.

_I don’t think anyone saw… If they did, people might think the driver closed it for me…_

Knowing from experience that the best thing to do was just act normal and brazen it out, Drift shifted the bulk of his focus to his holoform. Squaring his shoulders, he strolled across the nearly empty carpark and entered the mall.

His target was unattended, sitting a few meters inside the door.

Lights twinkled merrily, flashing a nonsense pattern around the tall glass prize box of the claw machine as Drift approached.

He walked around it, pretending curiosity in the contents while noting that his true prize was in the best spot for an easy extraction. He’d studied this type of game online and knew the basic theory and physics behind it, but it might take him several goes to get the hang of it -hence the (probably excessive) number of coins clenched in his holographic fist.

 _I’m_ so _glad holoforms can’t sweat._

Feeding every single coin he’d brought into the machine took a couple of seconds, more than long enough for Drift to think and overthink about what he was doing. He knew this was silly, that there were better (and potentially cheaper) ways of acquiring a plushie like this one.

There was just something about the _challenge_ of this method that appealed to him.

Plus he really liked the sense of character the wonky stitching on one of the facial seams gave this particular plushie.

The claw machine was nowhere near as easy to use as the humans on the internet had made it look. By his fourth or fifth attempt Drift had gotten the hang of it, neatly catching the toy he’d chosen to practice on before going for his true goal.

_I can send that one to Percy. He likes Magikarp, right?_

As for Drift’s coveted plushie, little Keroberos with the wonky stitching was his on the next attempt. This left him with another ten turns, which he happily used up collecting plushies for those Autobots he could call friend. Plus one for their official human liason -because it never hurt to butter up the person in charge of your off-base leave time.

Holographic arms full of plushies, Drift left the mall with a spring in his step and a smile on his face.

_Mission accomplished._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unedited version of this ficlet can be found [HERE](http://adhesivesandscrap.tumblr.com/post/176827291806/drafted-emergency-ficlet-commission-for). Thank you so, so much Silverxenomorph <3


	10. [Unexpected Gifts] Jazz/Prowl/Sideswipe/Sunstreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Established Jazz/Prowl and Jazz/others, hinted Prowl/Sideswipe/Sunstreaker  
> Prowl, Bluestreak, Bumblebee, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Red Alert  
> SFW, Friendship, Blackmail, Fluff, Polyamory, Open Relationship.  
> Bluestreak is a meddler. So is Jazz. Bumblebee is in on it too. They want Prowl to be happy (and surrounded by gorgeous mechs).

Prowl sat in the Rec Room, drinking his ration quietly and listening to Bluestreak prattle.

The younger Praxian was in the middle of giving him a detailed analysis of some _extremely_ juicy gossip he’d just-so-happened to overhear. _Completely_ by accident, of course. It alternately amused and infuriated Prowl that few –if any- of the mechs stationed on Earth appeared able to see through Blue’s façade.

 _Nobody remembers that he’s one of Jazz’s mechs._ Or _that I need to know these things to increase the efficiency of my rosters…_

There was no point in assigning mechs to joint duties if they were fighting, after all. And if two compatible mechs were avoiding each other there was nothing better than sharing patrols or spending long, tedious hours of monitor duty together. Not that Prowl would ever do this on purpose. No, not him. Whenever something like that happened all fingers were pointed straight at Jazz or Prime, leaving Prowl blameless and his absolutely shameless love of gossip safely hidden from the crew.

Nobody would believe it, anyway.

“So, according to Ratchet the Twins’ sparking-day should be next month.” Bluestreak was saying as he ignored his own cooling ration cube. “Near as he can figure, anyway. I know we’ve all picked Earth-Birthdays and theirs is April First but this is their actual real Cybertronian birthday, going by spectrographic analysis of their sparks’ age and something about the latticing and composition of the chamber crystal.”

This little tidbit caught Prowl’s attention like nothing else. Off-duty and relaxed as he was, his doorwings twitched before he could control them. The flash of triumph in Bluestreak’s Field and the little smirk he threw Prowl told him that he was busted.

_Slagging sniper. Meddling little SpecOps glitch._

“I thought you might like to know that, ya know just in case it rains or something.” Bluestreak’s innocent smile didn’t fool Prowl one bit. “It would be _really_ super awful of you to assign Sunstreaker a patrol in the mud on his sparking-day and all. You’re mean when it comes to punishments but only as mean as you _need_ to be to get the point across. I know that even if most people think you’re just being an aft.” Grey doorwings flicked and danced behind the younger Praxian but Prowl barely noticed them. “You’re not heartless –sorry, _spark_ less- and you’re always really nice about trying to schedule people off on their Earth-birthdays. _Everyone_ knows it’s totally not an accident, by the way. You’ve been busted on that one.”

 _And on something else_ , his doorwings said.

“Oh! By the way, Jazz was talking to me the other day. About that _thing_ he said he’s been talking to you about, you know?” Bluestreak was _extremely_ casual about all this, acting as if he didn’t see Prowl going still starting to hyperventilate. “ _I_ think he’s right and you should go for it. Anyway, I’ve got a shift starting soon -you probably know already because you make the rosters- so I’ve gotta get going. Bye, Prowl!”

With a cheerful wave Bluestreak was gone, leaving Prowl frozen to the spot and teetering dangerously close to a panic-driven crash.

_Bluestreak knows._

The entire Autobot army and every human associated with them knew that Prowl and Jazz were together. What they _didn’t_ know was that the relationship was –for the lack of a better term- an open one. Prowl always wanted to beat his head against the wall whenever Jazz spent a few hours in someone else’s berth and the entire base walked on eggshells around him for _weeks_ afterwards. Some of them were starting to grasp that he didn’t mind Jazz berthing other mechs, but they didn’t think it could go the other way.

_They must still think I’m more of a drone than an actual Praxian…_

And now Bluestreak –another Praxian, his offspring by law if not by frame or spark- _knew_ that Jazz had been encouraging Prowl towards a pair of incredibly attractive warriors. A pair of intelligent troublemakers who also gave him more headaches than any six other mechs or humans combined.

If he didn’t do something about it now, on his own terms, then Prowl could be absolutely certain that Bluestreak would start encouraging Sideswipe to make a move on him.

The unsubtle mention of that estimated sparking-date gave Prowl his timeframe.

_If I haven’t done something by the end of next month…_

Bluestreak would take matters into his own hands.

With Jazz’s blessing.

Suddenly feeling _extremely_ motivated, Prowl began to plan in earnest.

 

#### ~V~V~

 

“Hey bro, have you got the day off too?” Sideswipe’s voice held all the confusion Sunstreaker himself felt as he entered their shared quarters.

“Yeah.” He handed Sideswipe his cube, frowning at an unlabelled box on their battered coffee table that hadn’t been there when he left. “Bluestreak told me. Rosters were amended last night, or something.”

“Huh, that’s what Bumblebee said when he dropped _that_ off.” Sideswipe waved a hand at the box. “Seemed pretty smug about something, too.”

“I’ll worry when he’s _not_ smug about something.” Sunstreaker grumbled, flopping into his favourite comfy chair and pulling his own morning ration from subspace. “So, you think it’s safe?”

Shrugging, Sideswipe knocked his fuel back and sat up properly so he could pull the box over. “Bee said it was in the mail run yesterday, addressed to us with no return address or anything.” His fingers twitched, eagerness pulsing from him in waves. “It’s been scanned and poked and Red says it’s harmless, so…”

“So just _open_ it and stop frying me with your anticipation.” Sunstreaker gave his brother the reaction he wanted, growling and flicking a stressball at him.

Sideswipe didn’t need to be told twice.

In an instant he had the mysterious box open, revealing a large envelope and two smaller, brightly-wrapped parcels. He ripped open the envelope to reveal a cheerful-looking card of decidedly Human make.

“What the fuck is all that?!” Sunstreaker demanded, leaning forward despite long experience with prank wars.

Lips moving silently as he read, Sideswipe ignored him. Sunstreaker reached into the box, pulling out one of the smaller packages. Someone had written his name on it with a stencil, neatly avoiding identification by handwriting.

::Hey Red?”::

::Yes, Sunstreaker?::

::Did you check our mail yesterday?::

::I did. You received packages addressed to you from a shopping website where you seem to have a registered wishlist. They contain nothing dangerous or explosive. Is that all?::

::Yes. Thanks.::

“It’s… a birthday present.” Sideswipe said, looking up from the card with wide optics. “Presents for our real, proper Sparking Day.”

Surprise and wonder filled Sunstreaker, trickling in slowly as he processed the situation. Someone had gone to the effort of finding out the best estimate of their sparking day and sending them something.

“Does it say who it’s from?” He asked, leaning forward.

“No.” Sideswipe sounded as confused as Sunstreaker felt, but he flashed a grin. “We’ll see what they sent before we hunt them down for thanks.”

That would be the sensible thing to do.

“Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unedited version of this short story can be found [HERE](http://adhesivesandscrap.tumblr.com/post/176969814621/emergency-ficlet-commission-for-wanderingpraxian). Thank you so so much WanderingPraxian <3


	11. [Persistence] Soundwave/Prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave/Prowl  
> TFP-hybrid AU.  
> WTF is canon?, Cybertronians with psychic powers, Postwar, Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, SPOILERS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Italicised text within tildes~ =Telepathy

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The war wasn’t supposed to end with their race decimated, reduced to a scant handful of traumatised survivors.

It wasn’t supposed to end with Optimus sacrificing himself to restore life to Cybertron.

_~Things rarely turn out as they are supposed to.~_

Soundwave’s words intruded gently, the hostmech had clearly picked up on Prowl’s gloomy thoughts. He bristled automatically, armour click-rustling as he tried to block Soundwave out entirely before remembering that it was pointless to try. Sighing, he turned away from his view of the nighttime city –scattered lights in shattered buildings, the dim glow of Cybertron’s natural lighting in the distance- to watch the lanky shape of Soundwave materialise out of the deeper shadows.

“Listening in again?” Prowl asked, his glyphs sharper than he intended.

Soundwave shook his helm, tapping his chestplate with a long, slim finger.

_~When you feel something strongly you broadcast, no matter what your intentions are to the contrary.~_

They’d never spent long enough in proximity to discover this before. And if Blaster had ever noticed anything, he’d never mentioned it to Prowl.

It was _incredibly_ frustrating.

 _~You never leaked intel during interrogations.~_ Soundwave moved closer, projecting a decidedly odd feeling of humour. _~Although some of those recitations of Praxus’ bylaws_ were _rather informative.~_

A dry chuckle escaped Prowl before he could stop it.

“Oh, shut up.” He said tiredly, running a hand over his faceplates as his sensorwings twitched with irritation. “I assume that was supposed to be reassuring? If so, you failed.”

 _~I only wished to draw you out of that pattern of thought before it pulled you in any further.~_ Soundwave’s silent glyphs were unexpectedly firm. _~None of us can afford to dwell on things we cannot change.~_

Anger flared, sudden and sharp. Prowl twisted away from the taller mech, swatting at manipulator cables that had started gently clearing road grit from his tyres.

“Well _what the frag else_ are we _supposed_ to do?!” He snarled, denta bared and sensorwings spread wide in challenge. “Everything we fought for is _gone!_ ”

 _Everything… and every_ one _._

It hurt so much because it was true.

They had broken the system that had enslaved them and killed the very people they had been trying to set free. Neither side was innocent of atrocity. In the end they’d all become the very thing they thought they had been fighting.

This time he didn’t resist Soundwave’s touch as the hostmech came to stand before him. Delicate fingers rested on Prowl’s scarred pauldrons; the physical contact allowing Soundwave’s thoughts to come through clear and strong.

 _~We take what we have left and **build** from it, we make sure that the mistakes of the past are not repeated.~_ His presence surrounded Prowl, aching with the same loss the Praxian felt and threaded with the same implacable determination and iron will that had earned Prowl’s respect so long ago _. ~We do this in their honour, because they would wish it of us.~_

Names and faces flashed through Prowl’s mind, more than he could count.

All of them belonging to the dead.

A gentle pressure between the joints of his sensorwings intruded on his awareness, encouraging him forward. Sighing, Prowl obeyed and rested his forehelm on Soundwave’s chestplate.

“Do you think we can do it?” He asked the dark metal.

_~I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think so.~_

Soundwave was certain when he wasn’t.

Prowl knew that later on, he’d be sure when the hostmech wasn’t.

It was why they worked well together.

They stayed like that for a while, listening to the night sounds of a reborn Cybertron and nurturing the glowing embers of Prowl’s hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unedited version of this can be found [HERE](http://adhesivesandscrap.tumblr.com/post/176349975576/another-emergency-ficlet-done-sunny-you).


	12. [A Good Night In] Cyclonus/Tailgate/Swerve/Whirl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyclonus/Whirl/Swerve/Tailgate  
> SFW  
> Polyamory, Polyamorous Relationship, Fluff, Established Relationship, Living with mental illness, Dark Humour as a coping method, Cuddlepiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If frank discussion/reference to the realities of living with chronic depression and suicidal thoughts makes you uncomfortable this won't be for you.  
> If it's part of your life, make some bad jokes with me and look after yourself, k?

If anyone saw them, Whirl would swear until the day he died that someone had spiked his drink.

Swerve and Tailgate would deny every accusation aimed their way, using every last ounce of the formidable amount of charisma and innocent charm they possessed between them to deflect all blame.

Nobody was stupid enough to blame Cyclonus but Whirl was crazy enough to do so anyway.

That was his excuse, and he was sticking to it.

No matter _what_ Rung said about his progress since boarding the Lost Light.

He stayed in the bar until closing time, that much was normal. As soon as there were no witnesses he started clearing off tables, throwing things at Swerve just to see how the minibot caught them. Sometimes he’d fake a fumble just to watch Whirl lean in, or pop a glass straight up in the air to catch it with an elaborate flourish.

If anyone else on the crew had _ever_ seen Swerve juggle, Whirl would eat his own berth.

 _Without_ seasonings.

Tailgate showed up ten minutes before the official lockup time. His job was to chivvy Swerve along, keep him from dragging out the cleanup while reminding him of the reasons he had to face the long walk back to his habsuite.

A long one, yes. But not a lonely one. Not anymore.

And between the three of them; Cyclonus, Tailgate and Whirl had made _damn_ sure that Swerve wasn’t left alone in there for days on end to try moping himself to death again.

Whirl didn’t care what the two “normal” mechs said when he used terms like that. Swerve was just like him. Swerve knew _exactly_ what he meant and why he used a euphemism like that.

It made the reality of their lives a little more bearable. They had to laugh at their issues, _had_ to spit in the face of the glitched thought-processes because the alternative was a slow, intolerable death.

Tailgate accepted Swerve’s explanation but didn’t really understand, not yet. Swerve and Whirl had sworn a private oath between themselves to do their utmost to protect him from the need to understand. From the looks Cyclonus gave them, they had a feeling he somehow _understood_ (or knew) what they were doing without having to be told.

It was a good thing. Whirl wasn’t up to explaining, at least not until after a couple million more years of therapy. He didn’t really know what stage Swerve was at in regards to all that, but it wasn’t really his business anyway.

Swerve could handle himself. He wasn’t gonna pry unless he got hints that the mech was cracking again. Until then he trusted Swerve to know how to look after himself the same way Swerve trusted Whirl to be able to do the same.

After waiting patiently for Swerve to lock up the trio headed back to Swerve’s now-solitary Habsuite with Tailgate hanging on Swerve’s arm, chattering away so the barkeep could start to wind down from ‘Customer Service Mode’.

When they arrived at their destination the door was closed as usual, but a sense of life seemed to come from inside. Swerve punched in his door code absent-mindedly, nodding at whatever Tailgate had just said about his Autobot Code lessons with Ultra Magnus.

Whirl would have had to dig past more Wrecker Protocol than he wanted to deal with right now to access his memories of the subsection Tailgate was referring to. He was glad that the disposal expert knew him well enough by now not to drag him into discussions of the finer details that he was being drilled on.

Once they were inside Whirl could see that Cyclonus had done a find job of setting up.

Thick, soft crashmats covered the floor in front of the only wall suitable for being used as a projector screen. A large bottle Swerve’s favourite after-shift beverage was waiting, with four glasses complete with a pair of straws (One swirly, one not in each.) This drink was something Whirl had grown quickly addicted to for the way it soothed a sore throat and any aching components on its’ way down to the tanks.

Cyclonus handed him a glass with a stoic nod and a glance from warm red optics. As if that was some kind of signal, the world dissolved into a mini-tornado.

Before he knew it, Whirl was ensconced in the middle of a pile of mechs. He was sitting between Cyclonus’ legs, leaning back against the other flightframe’s solid ventral armour. Swerve was leaning comfortably against his left side, Tailgate’s smooth armour pressing warmly against his right.

“We were halfway through Season Two, right?” Tailgate asked as someone –not Whirl- activated the small projector Swerve had bolted to a shelf.

“Yeah, we were.” Swerve confirmed after a long pull through one of his straws. “The episode _between_ the blood-named ones.”

“Excellent. Tailgate doesn’t need those nightmares.” Cyclonus rumbled, his voice and engine-activation vibrating through Whirl’s armour. “Not yet.”

“Pfft, you like comforting him after. Don’t lie.” Whirl accused, relaxing backward so he could gently _thunk_ the back of his helm against Cyclonus’ chestplate.

“I don’t like that he has them” Cyclonus didn’t deny that he enjoyed comforting the blue-and-white minibot, which was a definite win in Whirl’s opinion.

“Hey Swerve; send me all your Stephen King bookfiles, would you?” Tailgate asked, peering at his fellow minibot over Whirl’s abdomen as the opening sequence played. “If you could throw in that Acruxian horror short-story compilation you were telling me about I’ll love you _forever_.”

“Deal.” Swerve said; easily ignoring the way Cyclonus growled, entire frame vibrating with anger behind and around Whirl.

“Read them to me while I work out the kinks in these new claws Ratchet made me and I’ll divert Purple and Pissy until he calms down.” Whirl offered as the opening credits drew to a close.

“Absolutely.” Tailgate bubbled with enthusiasm one moment, then sobered in the next. “Now _sssshh!_ The show’s starting.”

Although occupying his fuelling equipment didn’t inhibit his post-empurata vocaliser, Whirl raised his glass and sipped from the curly straw, staying obediently quiet as his lovers relaxed around him.

If anyone walked in and caught them, he’d claim he was here because someone had spiked his drink.

They wouldn’t believe the truth, but that was just fine with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unedited version of this ficlet can be found [ HERE](http://adhesivesandscrap.tumblr.com/post/175947446556/a-serving-of-cywhirlswervegate-for-moyaofthemist). Thank you so, so much MoyaOfTheMist!


	13. [Perceptor's Cats] Perceptor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW  
> Perceptor, Kup, Assorted grumpy Wreckers, Feral Cat Colony.  
> Fluff. So much fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to the memory of a wonderful friend.

Every time the Wreckers stopped near Earth it was the same.

Kup figured they should have gotten used to it by now, or else asked him to stop visiting Earth so often.

It was the same question. Every time.

“Where’s Perceptor?”

“No-idea.” Blurr shrugged, the movement slow for him. “He-never-answers-his-comms.”

“I wish he’d hurry up.” Topspin grumbled, plating twitching irritably. “The bugs are getting under my armour and it _itches_.”

Nobody responded to that.

A few minutes of grumbling later Topspin stomped back inside, muttering about mechs who turned off their comms.

As usual Perceptor returned well after sundown. His Field was calm and tranquil, the stress lines on his face less defined. To Kup’s experienced optic the mech didn’t look like he was about to snap and start putting bullets through the crew.

This was a good thing, so far as Kup was concerned. He was _very_ well aware of the increased risk of Perceptor cracking without Drift in the Wreckers. Losing the company of the only mech with enough basic decency left to carry his bleeding carcass out of Lockdown’s ship had a definitely negative effect on Perceptor’s temper.

So to keep their sniper sane Kup plotted regular trips through Sol’s system; trips that happened to bring them close to Earth with just enough time on their hands to justify a visit. He may not have been directly responsible for Perceptor’s injuries, but he was undeniably the reason the scientist had joined their team in the first place.

Just looking out for him, that’s all.

Kup took a deep drag of his cygar as he watched Perceptor return, nodding at the quiet mech as he walked past and receiving a faint smile of greeting.

_Excellent. Kid should be good for a while now._

Satisfied with his work for the day, Kup boarded and closed the airlock.

_Let’s get out of here._

### ~V~Earlier That Day~V~

 

Perceptor was half-asleep, sensors set lazily to a passive scan of the surrounding environment.

The tiny, quadrupedal organics around him would be alert to incoming trouble long before any reached them. His local human contact would text him if something went wrong.

It was safe to let his guard down, just a bit. Just for a little while.

 _Besides, with Wreckers in the area_ nobody _is stupid enough to cause trouble._

Anyone stupid enough to do so was already dead at Wrecker hands.

Folded into altmode, sitting squarely in the middle of a broad patch of sunlight he ignored the tiny warm bodies that dashed around, treating him like a piece of play equipment. The sensible older animals had already claimed resting places on his frame, using the advantage of the high ground he provided to watch over the younger members of the colony.

As usual it had taken about an hour for them to become used to his presence again. Until they had, his oversized altmode had stood out like a piece of modern art in the abandoned stable forecourt. Now that he was festooned with cats he more-or-less fit in with the random pieces of farm equipment stored there. If you squinted and ignored the fact that he was far cleaner than anything else besides the cats.

_I could be mistaken for some esoteric equipment from the dairy down the road, perhaps…_

The quiet, slightly discordant rumbling from many of the felines combined with the peace of the countryside relaxed him, unwinding tightly-strung nerves until he was quite content to power down for a week-long defrag cycle.

Resisting the temptation to do just that, he ran a head-count of the current colony population. He sent the final census along with a rough breakdown of kitten and adult numbers to his human contact, entering more detailed information into his own personal files on this colony.

There was one particular cat from this colony whose lineage he had taken a special interest in, attentively following the development of each generation. That particular cat was one he’d been tempted to adopt the same way he’d heard Thundercracker had taken on a dog.

_One day, maybe._

This years’ litters were doing well –fat and healthy, with bright eyes and plenty of energy to burn. The reduction in population by careful trapping and fostering of young kittens meant there was more food to go around to those who remained. The current crop of awkward teenagers had been tiny little things with blue eyes last time he’d seen them. The oldest of these gangly young beasts were just now approaching his solidly metallic presence. Slowly, the bravest of them followed the example of their elders and curled into gaps in his treads where the dark material had been absorbing the warmth of the sun.

 _Oh no, I’m pinned._ Perceptor thought, stifling a chuckle. _Someone send help._

According to his chronometer he had three hours until he had to be back at the ship, but he didn’t care. The Wreckers could wait until the cats decided to get up. They had before, although they didn’t know it. And they would do so again, every single time they had shore leave on Earth.

_Worth it._

Letting his own engine join the chorus of purring with an almost silent rumble of contentment, Perceptor relaxed in the afternoon sun and let his mind drift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unedited version of this ficlet can be found [HERE](http://adhesivesandscrap.tumblr.com/post/176571560186/emergency-ficlet-commission-for-anonymous-im-so). Thank you Anon, you know who you are :hugs:


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